By The BajaGringo Column originally appeared in the Baja Times
on February 1, 2008 The
question is one I have answered
countless times over the years
since making the decision to set
anchor here on the Baja
California peninsula. An old
friend, whom I hadn’t seen in
years, was taking my coat and
before I could sit down on the
living room couch of his
Huntington Beach home the
inevitable question was asked.
“What made you decide to move to Mexico?”
On the verge of repeating my well rehearsed response, I hesitated for a
moment before answering. I sensed that his question was one of sincere
interest and more than just casual conversation. My friend and I share
much in common beyond our Navy days together aboard the USS Long Beach
CGN-9. We are both active Baby Boomers, professionals, entrepreneurs,
with Bohemian roots and empty nest syndrome, sharing a love of art,
music, travel, adventure, golf, fishing, exotic food and good wine.
Living for years along the California coastline had molded a large part
of who we had become and the lifestyle we worked so hard to enjoy.
Almost out loud I wondered if he was considering a similar life changing
decision that I made years ago. “Actually nothing made me move to
Mexico”, I said and thought for a moment before continuing. “It just
seemed like a good move at the time but something happened to me that I
would never have expected”.
Now I could see that my friend was really quite puzzled so I shared with
him that “I woke up one day and realized that Mexico had adopted me!”
There is much that has been written over the years on why so many
Gringos move to Mexico. There are enough newspaper columns, magazine
articles, websites, travel blogs and how-to guides on the subject to
fill the Library of Congress. We could
argue over the reasons why or
even debate the exact number of expats living south of the border.
Estimates range conservatively from as low as 300,000 to one US
government estimate of over one million. The real number probably lies
somewhere in between but one indisputable fact remains - Mexico is the
number one destination for Baby Boomers looking to retire abroad. Those
numbers are expected to swell in the coming years.
Sharing the US southern border, Mexico is easily reached by car from any
of the southwestern states. A lower cost of living and housing, mild
climate, reasonably priced health care, rich history and culture with
topographical diversity served up on a warm plate of Mexican hospitality
and tradition are just a few of the reasons why Mexico has earned that
distinction. The Baja California corridor offers the possibility of
oceanfront living to those of us who could only dream of such a thing
growing up in California along the Pacific Ocean. Wonderful golf
courses, sport fishing, wine tasting, shopping, fine dining and perfect
weather, all just a short drive from San Diego made my decision to move
to Baja an easy one. I even like to call it the “San Diego South
Lifestyle.”
While sharing my story with my friend and love of the peninsula, I
didn’t give him any facts, figures, statistics or press references. He
could discover and learn about all of that information and more for
himself online. What I did instead was to share a few stories of my
personal experiences living south of the border. House hunting in
Rosarito Beach for a place big enough to accommodate all of my furniture
and room for Dakota, my big yellow Labrador. Figuring out how to get
water from my "pila" and engineering a solution to a refrigerator that
was too big for my kitchen. Meeting my neighbors for the first time who
walked in through the open garage door bringing a large tray of pan
dulce. They found me cursing under the kitchen sink hooking up the
icemaker wearing just boxer shorts and a red face.
I told him how I thought I had managed to score the best gardener deal
ever only to discover a month later that the gardener had not quoted me
a rate in pesos. I described how I had slowly acclimated to
the local
culture and lifestyle with stories of my many adventures and experiences
along the way. I was helped by so many people who expected nothing more
in return than just a thank you and a smile.
The countless examples of generosity and hospitality extended to me are
part of the very essence that makes Mexico the number one travel
destination for the USA. Driving in Mexico, you may find that the road
is not always straight and there may even be a pothole or two along the
way. This is not the USA. This is not endless subdivisions of identical
tract houses with strip malls at every stoplight designed by planning
engineers who seem to have all graduated from the same school of
architectural design. This is Mexico, a proud and independent country
with a myriad of colors, flavors, designs, tastes, culture,
opportunities and adventures. In all of my years here I don’t recall two
days ever being the same. When I am away for more than a couple of days
I inevitably begin to long to come back home. Life anywhere else just
seems plain and bland in comparison.
Life stories are written with memories ranging from the best to the very
worst. It’s the price we pay for life on this planet and makes up the
complexity of who we really are. So I also shared with my friend as I
recalled an early morning phone call in April 2004. Olivia, my youngest
daughter had been found unconscious and was en route to the emergency
room in Bakersfield. I remember countless friends and neighbors from
Rosarito Beach calling me every day as I stood vigil over my daughter,
praying for a miracle. They were watching over my home, feeding and
walking Dakota, watering the plants and even paid my electric bill when
it arrived. They had all come to know Olivia on her frequent trips down
to spend time with me and they shared how everyone was praying for her.
They reminded me not to worry about anything back home as all would be
taken care of.
Ten days later, on a very early spring morning I was a helpless
bystander in that hospital room in intensive care. Watching as the
breathing of my precious baby girl grew labored, I felt as though my own
life slipped away with her as I held Olivia tightly in my arms. She took
one last breath and everything in my mind and my life just seemed to go
dark at that moment. I honestly don’t remember
much about the days that
followed or how I even survived. One thing that I do remember and will
always stand out occurred days after the funeral, when I returned home
to Mexico. The entire neighborhood came out to receive me as I got out
of the taxicab. Right there in the middle of the street, in front of my
home we hugged, cried and grieved together. I don’t even remember paying
the driver his fare. I’m sure a neighbor took care of that.
During the weeks that followed they cared for me as if I were a close
family member, bringing meals, walking Dakota, spending time with me if
only to listen and hold me up as I grieved. The strong sense of family
here in Mexico is such an intricate element that makes up the very
character of its culture and society. I never really experienced
anything like that before in all my years but it felt as soothing as
tired muscles slipping into a warm bath. Without even a word being
spoken on the matter I was unconditionally incorporated into membership
into each one of their families - to some as a brother and into others
as a son.
The months passed and I learned to deal with the pain by immersing
myself into my work more and more. I suppose that we all deal with loss
in different ways and I just did what seemed to come naturally to me. It
was probably just self-preservation. My routine developed into what
those close to me called “workaholic avoidance”. At least that was the
diagnosis of the Señoras of the neighborhood.
As stereotypical Latino culture dictates and in true democratic fashion
a vote was taken. It was unanimous. This long single Gringo was going to
get a wife. He may not know it but he needed a wife, whether he liked it
or not. The Señoras would see to that and a parade of dinner invitations
soon followed. Surprisingly there would always be a single female friend
who they just "happened" to invite over. I always tried to act surprised.
Not that I wasn’t open to the idea, mind you. It was just that I had
only chuckled at such scenarios in movies and sitcoms and never actually
imagined myself playing the role of the “eligible bachelor”.
What the Señoras didn’t know was that their husbands sabotaged their
plans each time with a preemptive strike, provididng me with detailed reconnaissance
of what awaited me that night in the dinner date rotation. I would get
the complete profile including her education, prior relationships,
number of kids, her family, her job and income potential, medical
history, natural hair color, what kind of car she drove, how much weight
she had lost and a few other details that I’m probably not allowed to
print.
The following morning the Señora would always find an excuse to stop by
bringing fresh cut flowers or homemade tortillas. She wanted to get the
complete report. Did I think she was nice? Did I think she was pretty?
Did I ask her for her number? Did she give me her number? Am I going to
call her?
It almost became a competition between the Señoras
of the neighborhood as to who
was going to be the winning
matchmaker. I also think that
some of the husbands were running a pool on how long before
the Gringo was going
down.
As typically happens in life, love is a very difficult commodity to
engineer and in spite of the best efforts of those well meaning Señoras
of the neighborhood, cupid was not to find his mark with this Gringo at
an arranged family dinner date. It would happen when least expected, in
a cooking class in Tijuana.
A good friend told me about the class given at STIRT on Saturdays and I
thought it would be fun to try something new. On that very first day of
class I was trying to duplicate the flair with which Master Chef Noe
Cortez worked his knife on the vegetables laid out in front of us.
Selecting an onion as a worthy opponent, I effortlessly diced it up in
record time. I looked at my work with great pride but before I could
impress the rest of the class with my conquest I heard a sniffle come
from across the countertop where I worked. All of my slicing and dicing
had brought tears to a lovely young woman who had been overcome by the
volatile sulfur released by the mutilated onion.
Offering her my handkerchief, I knew little at the time that my life was
to change forever that day. In the months that followed Cristina would
become my constant companion and my wife.
Three years later, our family has grown to include two neurotic
Siamese cats and together we have moved into a larger home closer to the
beach. Walking together
on the sandy beach below, hand in hand with Cristina I watch Dakota play
in the surf. I am reminded what a rich, emotional and colorful
experience my life on the Baja California peninsula has been. Cristina
loves to remind me that I made her cry the first time we met.
As I shared my stories with my friend, never once did I mention the
price of a home or condominium, low cost of living or miniscule property
taxes here in Baja.
I described the experience of sipping a margarita on the terrace at La
Fonda on a summer afternoon watching the ocean sunset and listening to
live Latin jazz. I helped him to picture what it was like teeing off on
hole number 7 at the famous Oceano nine at Bajamar with your favorite
foursome. The tension would be as thick as the last day of the US Open
as nothing less than drinks at the clubhouse were riding on whether your
drive would clear the ocean waves crashing below. I shared with him the
sensation of tasting Puerto Nuevo lobster dipped into garlic butter with
wandering Mariachis playing nearby and finding yourself slowly and
without warning blend into the fabric of the society, culture and
lifestyle that this wonderful slice of Mexico offers.
The Baja California corridor opens her arms and welcomes all who will
come to participate and contribute. I spent the majority of my life as a
professional nomad of sorts, traveling and working abroad in many
countries on different continents. Each destination had its own unique
qualities and attraction but I always felt like an outsider in one way
or another. I probably came to Mexico with the
same attitude but my life
and experiences here on the peninsula changed my course forever as I
woke up to one day to discover that this stretch of Pacific Ocean real
estate had adopted this well traveled Gringo. I sensed a true feeling of
connection and belonging.
I didn’t tell my friend that day what had made me move to Mexico. I
shared with him what keeps me here. I have found love. I am learning to
cope with the pain of loss. Cristina is now my life and Olivia will
forever be in my heart. The Baja California peninsula is my home and
where I hope to spend the rest of my days, God willing.
Open your heart
and see if she doesn’t invite you too...
BajaGringois Ronald Hoff, eMarketing and SEO Consultant.
